The old fool is dead, and good riddance. I slaughtered him, slaughtered them all, purged his stench from the world with fire. I know he has whelped; I have seen the mewling puke. I know it can sense me, on some level. I have seen it scamper and flee as I stalk it, amused, my blades hungry and the burning of my unquenchable hate bright in my heart. But now is not the time. It has what I need. I will snuff the last of the old fool's legacy from the world soon enough, but for now, I need it. I stalk it. I watch it. It senses me, sometimes, feels my intent. It almost saw me, once, in the forest beneath the ruined house on the hill, but it remains blind to me. If only it knew how close I have been, if it remembered the cold caress against its face. If it knew that we have spoken, time and time again, blind and deaf to the gibbering madness behind these eyes. It knows that it I am going to tear out its throat someday, but it does not know how intimate we already are. And when I stand revealed and show it the last gasps of its own beating heart, it will know how blind and stupid it truly is and always has been. And I will laugh. The crazed smile on my lips disappears as I pull the blank white face over my own. Only my eyes remain...eyes that will soon witness the end of the line of Edron.
